We were celebrating a major victory at work, so we went out for drinks at Reds, where a Creemore, which costs $5 everywhere else, costs $7.50. I discovered that it is actually cheaper at such a place to drink martinis than to drink beer. Luckily, I wasn’t paying. Even luckier, I wasn’t paying for our dinner (or my own dinner) at Rain.

Rain is ultra-cool and ultra-modern (if modern makes you think 1972) inside with a cascading wall of water, giant white orb-like chandelier thingies, and those egg-like chairs that are suspended from the ceiling that were supposedly popular in the 1960s. There’s also a lounge area with low white leatherette Austin Power-type couches and an illuminated frosted glass communal dining table where the 30-somethings on the make can meet the banker of their dreams.

We are seated and handed menus printed on Japanese rice paper where the prices are all spelled out in words — never a good sign. The waiter informs us that eating at Rain is “communal,” meaning that my $32.00 (or should I say, thirty-two dollar) salmon teriyaki entree comes without side dishes and I have to share both salmon and side dishes with D, my dining companion. But that’s okay, because he has to share his Japanese strip loin with me. But I don’t eat red meat. But he’s paying, so that’s ok.

I know we had mushrooms and bok choy (both done in some kind of fancy way, with sauce) and the salmon and the strip loin. Plus some chocolate pineapple thingy and green tea for dessert. We also had a bottle of wine (after the Creemore and the martinis), which may explain why I don’t really remember whether the food was any good. I do remember that the bill for just the two of us came to $260 (that’s two hundred and sixty dollars). Of course, that was ok, because I wasn’t paying.

If I had been paying and it had cost $260, you’d better believe I would make sure I could remember it more clearly.